


Sheets of newspaper

by Knight41



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Antisemitism, Eventual Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Oliver, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Self-Harm, Winter 1983
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-03 16:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 16,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13999950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knight41/pseuds/Knight41
Summary: I found Oliver's red bathing suit the morning after his departure, under my former bed. Probably Mafalda had accidentally dropped it while she was cleaning up the room that once belonged to me. Almost a week had passed, but I felt like ages dividing me from the last time I was there with him, under those already washed white sheets. Ages dividing me from our silly chats, our chuckles, his grin, his warm, sleeping body entwined with mine under the fresh summer breeze coming from the window.





	1. His bathing suit

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: I put the "Rape/Non-Con" warning in order to respect everyone's sensibility, even if rape contents are only outlined in Elio's post-traumatic nightmares. Nevertheless, there will be a lot going on with this story, so consider yourself warned ^^". Obviously, Elio's trauma has nothing to do with Oliver.
> 
> This is my first fanfiction ever, I'll try to follow the book, but movie references will be present. The story starts after Oliver's departure and Elio’s talk with his father. I’m still writing it, but it’ll be quite a long story.

I found Oliver's red bathing suit the morning after his departure, under my former bed. Probably Mafalda had accidentally dropped it while she was cleaning up the room that once belonged to me. Almost a week had passed, but I felt like ages dividing me from the last time I was there with him, under those already washed white sheets. Ages dividing me from our silly chats, our chuckles, his grin, his warm, sleeping body entwined with mine under the fresh summer breeze coming from the window.

I slowly picked the suit from the ground and contemplated it for some instants, standing there, unable to do anything except stare at that faded cloth. Stare at that great emptiness that was storming into my heart, screaming his name, my name, and what we both had lost for good. Let it flow. It will pass eventually, and make you stronger. A stronger, more mature person than the 17-years-old Elio, who would have sniffed that red bathing suit like crazy, wear it, cuddled it, enjoyed his smell through its rough fabric, like that dull afternoon when he spilled part of himself into the other's bed sheets. Let Oliver find it, let him know everything, if he hated him, he'd hate him just a bit more, but still, he would know. He would know how much I had worshipped him, how much I cared about him, how much I couldn't stand without him, how much I would grow to love him deeper and deeper at every instant. He knew eventually.  
And now it wasn't just two rooms or a balcony dividing us but an entire ocean. It was over. So what would have been the point in contemplating his swimsuit if not just to hurt myself with memories? I managed to walk into my room and put the suit into that plastic bag where Billowy, his blue shirt, already lied. At least, one against each other, they would have been able to preserve his smell for a bit more time, both witnesses of his existence.

Days passed, and summer was gone. I tried to contact him again but his silence, that I could read into his few postcards, told me everything already. He was trying to recover too, and I knew that if I called him I would have just ruined both our improvements. I often pictured him thinking about me at the worst times ever. Like when he was enjoying a beer with his friends or going to the disco, or when he was all alone, reviewing his works, or preparing his lessons for his new students. I imagined him looking at something that would remind him of what we used to be, or at his window, up at those few stars annihilated by the intense light of the streets of New York, but yet the same ones that had once shined over both of us in B.

It was in some way bittersweet imagining him sharing all the things that I was feeling, hiding them to the outside world, like a precious thing you've lost forever and you don't want to talk about. At least I knew I wasn't alone in this world, that someone shared my pain. I hated myself for having such a thought, but it was the only one that helped me in the darkest moments. "Mal comune mezzo gaudio." they used to say here. Common pain cheers you up in some way. Funny but true, even if that sad and melancholic Oliver was destined to live only in my head. For all I knew, he could have phoned my family the day after, telling us that soon he would be married to someone else. He recovered, leaving you behind. He will forget you the next summer. He will forget Billowy, and via di Santa Maria dell'Anima, when the two of you kissed that crazy night without caring for the world to see. He will forget that bathroom stall in Fiumicino, the last time that his lips touched yours, he will forget the first time, at your favorite spot, where Monet once came to paint. You will be labeled as a summer mistake, that stupid boy who couldn't resist your stare, that worshipped you, too young to know what a true love is.  
But if all of this wasn't true love, how true love would feel? How could it shatter and hurt and wound even a bit more than all the emptiness that I felt was doing now?

I had other chats with my father. He told me about his past, when he was young like me, when he met _maman_. He asked me if I was doing ok, often in relation to my classes, even if we both knew what he actually meant. In those occasions, I usually started to talk about homework and exams, trying to avoid the real conversation to even begin. But I knew that he knew that despite all my efforts, I couldn't heal as much as I wanted, as fast as I desired. Maybe I would have never healed from that. He, my mother and Marzia, the only three persons that knew about what had really happened to me that summer, could hear it from my pieces on the piano, from my eyes, every time I refused to go out with my friends because I couldn't just bear it. Often, Vimini knocked at our doors and stayed with me by the fireplace. After that day at the rocks, we never talked about Oliver. She had felt something for him too, and in some way understood my grief, even if she was too young to really comprehend it. We chatted about Hannukah and Christmas trees, about Paris, that she would have wanted to visit, and classical music. Sometimes I even played for her, while she was sitting on the carpet, or behind me in the very same spot that once was his. She enjoyed my arrangement of the Nutcracker of Tchaikovsky, she told me that they "smelled" like Christmas. I had smiled at her and she had smiled at me. We both knew that he would have smiled too.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language (I'm Italian), I try to do my best, but I'm open to tips and suggestions :) I'll try to update as soon as possible!


	2. The letter

The day the letter arrived was a Saturday of December. I was reading a book after returning home from the Liceo when I overheard a strange conversation between Mafalda and my mother. They were chatting silently, which was very strange for them.

\- ... il cauboi..._

I closed my book, and slowly approached the two of them in the kitchen.

\- Mamma?_ I asked in a husky voice, interrupting her. They turned to me. - Che sta succedendo?_ what is happening?

She raised a letter from her hands. I made some steps forward, and I finally realized that the stamp at the corner wasn't from Italy, nor that handwrite belonged to any of my friends abroad.

 

"To Elio Perlman"

 

\- La muvi star ti ha scritto!_ Mafalda finally exclaimed while I was receiving the letter from my mother, like an archeologist who's being passed a delicate and ancient treasure. He finally showed himself. Not a postcard: a letter. To me. Why was he writing to me? I was dumbstruck, unable to look away from those few indentations made by the ink on that white and fragile parchment. My mother woke me up from my torpor with a sweet caress over my shoulder.

\- It was supposed to arrive a week ago._ I raised my head, unable to process what she had just said. How could she know? What was I missing? - I think he wanted you to read it alone._ she added smiling.

I only managed to nod, and brought myself to my room upstairs. I had so many thoughts in my mind that I could hardly focus on anything. I opened the letter slowly, after few seconds of contemplating it on the center of my desk. I could recognize the handwriting.

 

_"December 5th, 1983_

_Dear Elio,_

_you don't know, but I think this is the fourth time I'm trying to write this letter. Words wouldn't sound good, entire sentences didn't make sense at a second reading. But if they don't make sense now maybe they did when I wrote them, as someone once told me, so I decided it is the last version of this letter, no matter what._

_After leaving for New York, your father and I talked a lot. At first it was for my book, which is being finally published as I wanted, then for some guidance for my new job as a teacher. But I have to confess that every time we talked, every time we finished the phone call after having argued on the most disparate subject, I desperately scrapped for some news of you. I didn't dare to ask anything deeper than if you were enjoying your classes or things like that, because I knew, I knew that if I had asked more, and cared more, it would have hurt me more than I could bear. Either if you were sad or happy without me, it would have hurt me nevertheless. Your father understood in some way - I wish I had a father like yours -._

_I'm sorry if I didn't show up for the past weeks. I hope that I could say that I did it only to protect you, to let you heal from what I've done to you, but this is not true. I was also protecting myself. I'm sorry if I write you this letter too, rather than hearing your voice, your sweet sweet voice, again on the phone. I just couldn't, and somewhat felt that writing down all my thoughts in a letter was a more proper way not to spoil everything again. I promised you not to lose contact, and I didn't write to you anything more important than some New York postcards for your family. I feel terribly regretful for this, and I hope you'll eventually manage to forgive me for my egoistic behavior. I don’t deserve your pardon, nor being a part of your life anymore. But I just can't keep myself from being selfish._

_I'm showing up again because I miss you."_

 

I looked at those letters with watery eyes. I couldn't believe it was true. I wiped my tears with one of my sleeves and forced myself to continue.

 

_"I miss your smile, your eyes, your voice, your touch, your soft breath when you slept with me, over my chest. I miss caressing your curls, smelling your perfume, our chats, that balcony that connected our rooms. I miss Fiumicino, our final hug by the metal detector, you were shivering, I was too. I didn't want to let you go, but I did. I was sick for the entire flight, and returning home and being alone again just amplified my pain. And I feel from deep inside me that I can't recover from this, no matter what. But still, I hoped that you did, I feared that you did, and so I kept myself away._

_It was your birthday yesterday. I had highlighted it on my calendar as soon as I had returned home, I feared I could forget it. I asked your father if you were enjoying it, and he told me you weren't celebrating. This isn't something you'd normally do, not that Elio that I used to cherish this summer. That strong, cheerful, smiling Elio would have done something for sure for his 18th year. And when I realized it was my fault, I could hear it from your father's evading tone of voice, I felt awful. I feel awful. And now, now that I'm writing this fourth letter at 1 AM, I beg your forgiveness. I hope that I was stronger and less selfish because I fear that my words will hurt you even more. I never wanted to hurt you and never will. That's why if you don't want to hear from me again I'll understand and respect you. Just burn this letter and try to forget it. I'll never show up again, I assure you. I just had to write down what I felt for you, in the most absurd and slightest hope that you'd manage to forgive me._

_Yours,_

_Oliver."_

 

 

Mine. I couldn't believe what I had just read. I read the letter again, and again. I started to sigh sitting there, at my desk. He had not forgotten me. He still felt something, he still... Was I crying out of happiness or sadness? He was sad just like me. We were both doomed to that pain, why was I supposed to be happy about this? Our love was impossible. I was 18, he was 24. I lived in Italy, he lived in New York. We were both men. And even if it worked, we would never have had any family. We were destined to be alone for our entire lives. And what would his family have said?

I checked the clock over the desk. 6 PM. 12 o'clock in New York. I had to hear his voice. "Later, maybe". No: not later. Now. I slowly went out my – our – room and picked up the phone in the corridor, dialing his number that I had preserved in my diary. I knew that there was a very little chance to speak to him at that time of the day, but-

 

 _\- Hello?__ it was him. His voice again, after months and months. _\- Hello? Can you hear me?__

\- Hi._ I managed to mutter.

The line went silent for some moments. _\- Elio.__ I heard him say.

\- Elio._

_\- Oliver.__

I feebly smiled. - So you remember._

 _\- I remember everything.__ We both chuckled. I had watery eyes.

\- You remember everything._ I parroted him.

 _\- I do.__   I could feel from his voice that he was feeling just like me. We were finally talking again.

Other instants of silence. I couldn't say anything.

_\- So you received my letter, didn't you?__

\- Yes._

_\- And you phoned me.__

\- Yes._

_\- So I suppose you want to hear from me again.__

\- You suppose good._ I smiled. I missed our chats so much. I missed his voice too. If I had closed my eyes, he would have been there with me, at the balcony, or in our bedroom at midnight. “ _Grow up. I'll see you at midnight._ ”

 _\- The letter had to arrive a week ago, I really feared it would have got lost.__ he said, after some moments of stillness. _\- I also feared that I had made a mistake. Words can't describe how s-__

\- You don't have to be sorry._ I interrupted him. - And besides, you did the same thing that I would have done if I had the guts._

_\- I was selfish.__

\- We both are._

_\- I didn't know if...__

\- I miss you too. More than what you think._

My words seemed to hush him for a moment. He was just realizing, as I had done minutes ago, that he wasn't alone in that pain. _\- Are... are you ok?__ he asked in a husky voice, the same one of the concerned Oliver that worried about me no matter what. I could feel from his letter and that call how much pain our summer story had caused him, and yet he worried about me firstly.

\- Me ok._ I lied.

_\- You're definitely not ok.__

\- I'm not._ I replied. He knew me more than what I thought, and that in some way hurt me: we were talking again, but I felt him so distant…

Silence again. _\- Elio, you just can't...__

\- How am I supposed to be ok?_ I asked him. - You're living your life in New York, and I am stuck here. You have a new job, a new life, and I am still stuck here. How am I supposed to be ok after this summer?_

 _\- You-__ he tried to say. _\- I've... I've spoiled you.__

\- You did not _spoil_ me._ I angrily replied. - All we did... All... I wanted to do that too. I needed to do that too. Stop thinking you've toyed with me or used me because we both know it's… _it’s not true_. I... I'm not ok because you're... you're not here with me and I'm just feeling… _helpless_._ I forced myself not to cry, but some tears had already started to drop across my cheeks.

_\- Elio... I thought we needed some time to set our minds, I...__

\- You did what was the best. I needed that time too._

 _\- ... but you're not alone anymore, I swear. I'm here now.__ Was it true? Or was it just a well-spoken lie?

\- You'll have to go eventually._ I felt like a child his first day at the kindergarten, but I couldn't keep myself from saying it.

_\- I'll have to. But we can talk on the phone. Send us letters. We’ll find a way. But I won't lose you again... unless you'll want to.__

\- Stop saying this kind of things. You know I won't._

 _\- You won't.__ he wasn't just parroting me, he was repeating it to himself. I knew him, he was like me. He was Elio, after all. I heard him sniffing.

 _\- I called your father as soon as I sent that letter. Don't be too harsh on your parents, they just wanted not to interfere with our feelings. Maybe it was the best thing they could do. I guess we both had to reflect on our feelings by ourselves.__ That's why maman knew. _\- I didn't know if you would have answered me, so I've sent another thing for you to his address, just in case the letter would have arrived later.__ that news left me dumbstruck again. _\- Happy belated birthday.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language (I'm Italian), I try to do my best, but I'm open to tips and suggestions :) I'll try to update as soon as possible!  
>  __  
> [My Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/knight41stories)  
> 


	3. My birthday present

When we finally hung up the phone it took me some moments to process all the feelings that were spinning inside my head. The Oliver that I imagined for four months was real. He had just talked to me through that tiny little phone, no mistakes about that. He remembered me. He had suffered just like me. He missed me.  
I repeated all of this in my head another time. And another. By the time I left that little chair facing the telephone I felt numb and weightless all the same. I missed him so much that I couldn't really define that hearing his voice again after so much time was a bless or another wound adding to the countless ones I already had. I wanted more. I wanted Oliver to be there with me. To walk out from our room and embrace me in a warm hug, whispering to my hear and heart a sweet _Later!_ with a grin on his face. _Later!:_ afternoon lovemaking. Then, not even waiting for a reply, he would have gone downstairs in a rush, leaving me hanging there as he adored to do. I smiled a little. "You left me hanging here a lot" I mumbled to myself.

By he time I finally reached the living room my father had arrived home. He was laying the table with my mother, while Mafalda was cooking in the kitchen.

\- Tesoro, il pacchetto è lì._ he greeted me, anticipating my thoughts. Both he and my mother were smiling, not taking too much attention on the tears that still wet my face. They knew that everything was ok, and respected me so much not to ask anything more. The package from Oliver was bigger than his first letter, and heavier. Not a lot, I could pick it up effortlessly, but the fact that he was _from him_ and _for me_ in some way magnified its features.

\- I'm going to my room._ I said, leaving. - Oliver sends his love._ it was so strange talking about him again.

\- We guessed, you guys took ages to hang up._ my mother ironized. I smiled at her double meaning.

_"I know you are always wandering around with your Walkman, so there's also the cassette._ "

I had opened Oliver’s present all at once, and that note had slipped under my eyes before I had even realized what I was owning in my hands.

 

BEETHOVEN  
PIANO SONATAS  
complete

Wilhelm Backhaus

 

One of the most skilled pianists of all the time. I had tons of his recordings in the living room. But what made that vinyl unique was that proud signature at the corner of it. _" Wilhelm Backhaus"_. Underlined. It wouldn't have meant anything for a lot of people, but it did for me. And I had only mentioned Backhaus to him once, while we were talking on a lazy day when I wasn't still his and he wasn't still mine. I could see him again, if I closed my eyes, relaxing at his heaven spot, sunglasses on, dressed only in his bathing suit and his David pendant. Maybe he was right, after all. Maybe he remembered everything as I did.

The first thing that I thought after receiving the present was to write him a letter. But then I knew that it wouldn't have arrived before the New Year, including all the delays of the holidays. Then I resolved to phone him another time. The phone bill was not a problem since my father often called foreign professors he worked with and then we had access to a special phone charge. Oliver had told me, before saying our goodbyes three or four times, that the best moment I could call him was in the morning - midday for me -, or after dinner - less affordable since it would have been late at night here in Italy. I could phone him also at lunch as I had just done, but he often remained at Columbia to eat with his colleagues, so he could have missed my call. All these restrictions tasted bitter, but I knew that I had to be content with that. He had returned living in New York, and I would have been only a child to only assume to be able to phone him every time I wanted. Summer days were over, after all. I looked again at his letter, left open on the desk. And then I realized how much I felt relieved.  
Relieved that probably, miles and miles away, he was thinking about us as I was doing that too. Maybe I had made his day. Most probably, to be fair. I felt something rising inside me. Happiness. And when I went downstairs once again and ate _le fettuccine_ Mafalda had cooked for dinner, I realized, from the silent smiles of my family and their witty questions about me and Oliver, that, in the end, I had never been alone.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language (I'm Italian), I try to do my best, but I'm open to tips and suggestions :) I'll try to update as soon as possible!  
> ["Beethoven - The complete Piano Sonatas" by Wilhelm Backhaus](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7U726VrX-U0)
> 
>  
> 
> __________________
> 
> And yes, here in Italy we say fettuccine and not fettuccini. Sorry but someone had to say it.
> 
> __  
> [My Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/knight41stories)  
> 


	4. His laugh

_\- Did you like your present?__

\- No._

_\- Ah...__

\- I adored it._

I really missed his laugh. It reminded me of that three days in Rome, or the nights at the balcony, when things used to be so simple and complicated at the same time. I was with him and he was with me. But we had time against us. Things to do together before parting. And suddenly, after so much time, everything had got different.

\- _That was cheap. Even for you.__

\- Even?_ I echoed him.

\- _Yes._ _ he chuckled. I did too.

\- How did you manage to find it?_

\- _A friend of a friend. Once I spotted it, I knew it had to be yours.__

I smiled.

_\- What did you do yesterday after we talked?__

\- Ate dinner. Then read your letter for the thousandth time._

_\- Did it make sense?__

\- Well, if I were you, I would have got to the point where you’re missing me way before. I would have skipped the I’m-so-sorry-and-selfish part, it sounds too dramatic._

He laughed again. I could feel his embarrassment to loosen up a bit.

_\- Well, artistic choices.__

\- Yeah, I suppose so._ I sentenced in a mocking voice. - Nonetheless, Italy improved your skills a lot._

_\- Uh?__

\- I read your book, and is far better than the manuscript._

_\- You read my manuscript?!?__

I chuckled. - Well, it was a very boring day, you were playing poker and your room was just two unlocked doors from mine._

_\- God, I knew that all this we-live-in-an-unlocked-house family policy would have backfired on me eventually.__

I grinned. If only his bed sheets or his swim suit could talk... - Are you mad at me?_

 _\- No!__ he rushed to say. _\- No, definitely not. But you could have told me. At least I would have known your opinion before publishing.__

\- Sorry, but I didn’t want to interfere with your thoughts. Don’t be too harsh on me._ I lazily dismissed, mimicking him from our previous call. - And in addition, I’ve got some bad experiences with your colleagues, so it became sort of a family policy, as you call it._

 _\- What? Tell me.__ he asked curiously. _\- Was it with that Maynard?__

He remembered him. - No, not him. Four years ago. He held a grudge against me that ruined my whole summer. He used to stay in the toilet for so long that I was stuck in or out of my room._

He laughed. _\- So that’s why you don’t use keys anymore.__

\- Maybe._ I smiled. Thinking about Maynard, one of his predecessors, made me remember. - Do you still have what you stole me?_

 _\- Stole?__ he echoed. _\- It was more a barter than a theft. And I’d remind you what you took from me instead.__

\- You didn’t answer my question._

 _\- I have it obviously. It’s on my desk.__ The thought of him looking that framed postcard of Monet’s berm every time he raised his eyes from his table filled my heart with glee and sadness at the same time.

_\- Whenever I felt sad I just turned it and read that “think of me someday”. He wrote it to you, but in my mind, it was from you to me.__

\- Did you?_

_\- What?__

\- Think of me someday?_ I mocked. It was a stupid question, I knew, but nonetheless, I had to hear it from him.

 _\- No.__ he sentenced. _\- Every day.__ he was thoughtful now, I could feel it from his tone of voice. And sad. Sad just like me.

I looked out of the of the window, to the feeble light illuminating the bare tree in our courtyard. The same one I used to sit against that summer, one of the many spots I used to spy his tranquil figure laying by the pool.

 

\- Do you recall the story of the young knight in love with his princess?_ I finally asked him after some moments of silence.

_\- The speak or die stalemate? It’s the third time you ask me.__

\- I know._ I feebly smiled. - I chose to speak, you remember? With that little note in your room._ I had slipped it under his door before the breakfast of the most important day of my life.

_\- You couldn’t stand the silence.__

\- You neither. And I rewrote that note far more than four times as you did with your letter. I feared that I would have lost you for good if I spoke my mind freely._

 _\- And here I am.__ he told me in an amused but husky voice. And _there_ he was. All I needed in that moment were his arms embracing my body in a really tight hug. I would have killed for that.

The line went silent for some moments before I was able to speak.

\- Thank you, Oliver._ I finally said. - Thank you for choosing not to die._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my first language (I'm Italian), I try to do my best, but I'm open to tips and suggestions :) I'll try to update as soon as possible!
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> [My Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/knight41stories)  
> 


	5. The Disco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go.

It seemed like ages since I had set foot in the little Disco of B. They did it outside in the summer, and I had never been in the proper mood after that. So it would have been at least six months, even seven. More than and half a year and my life had changed entirely. But that day, for once, I was feeling fine.

Actually, _more_ than fine. Things were finally getting better and I had to celebrate. Marzia was the first person to know what was going on apart from my family. In spite of what had happened that previous summer, she had offered her friendship without any regrets, and I valued it a lot. The idea to go to the disco to celebrate was hers. And there I stood, preparing myself, Billowy lying on the bed. I had put it out of the plastic bag and had Mafalda iron it for me without even thinking about it. It just sounded right to wear it, after all that time. It would have reminded me of us.

 

I called Oliver just before going out. He said he was glad that I was finally enjoying my 18s.

_\- I wish I had a photo of you dressed up.__

\- Dressed up?_ I mocked.

He laughed and called me a goose. I missed my nickname more than I thought. I would have sent him a photo with a letter later. Maybe.

 _\- Don’t tease me! Or I hang up the phone.__ he taunted me. We both knew what an idle threat it was.

\- Elio, hai finito?_ “ _are you done?”_ Marzia’s voice from the corridor. - Chiara e Mattia ci stanno aspettando in macchina!_

Marzia had arrived in my house before, while our friends were coming with the car. - Arrivo!_ I shouted.

_\- Go, we’ll talk later.__

\- Later then._ I grinned, hanging up the phone.

Marzia was entering my room at the same moment. She was so beautiful in her red dress. - Did you even brush your hair? It’s a complete mess._ she asked with a smile.

 

Mattia was Chiara’s new boyfriend. He had a car, so he had offered us a lift. We arrived at B. in a matter of minutes. Oliver would have loved the place: Christmas lights everywhere, the warm smell of pizza coming from the restaurant by the _piazzetta,_ people on the streets… Saturday night, surprisingly one of the warmest ones of that winter. The Disco, just a little outside B., inside a concrete building that once was an abandoned factory.

 

\- Remember me why you’re here._ Marzia shouted in the chaos of the dancefloor. I had been sitting there at the corner for too long. She grabbed my arm and pulled me into the crowd. The music engulfed me completely. And then I started to dance with her and all the others. It was strange to do that again after months and months, somehow relaxing and awkward at the same time. The room was dark, pierced by the colored led lights wandering on the ceiling and on the crowd. Once the first music started to fade out, I lazily got to the bar and ordered my second beer. I was 18 now, no hard times to find alcohol anymore. I could feel myself loosen up drink after drink. By the time I was feeling tipsy, I had already lost Marzia and all the others in the crowd. I didn’t care, I would have found them eventually. Thus I started to dance alone casually.

\- Ehi Elio!_

I turned around. It was a guy older than me. I didn’t remember him.

He recognized my puzzled face. - Sono Carlo, sono il fratello di Luca! Ci siamo visti l’estate scorsa!_ last summer? I had drunk too much to remember. Long time no see. Yes. What were you up to? School.

He laughed. - Non sei mai stato un tipo di molte parole!_ I smiled and told him I was sorry for the straight answers but I was feeling very tipsy at the moment. Do you want to smoke outside? Sure, let’s go.

 

The night breeze caught me off-guard. It was not so cold outside, but the sudden change of temperature made me shiver. Maybe I had to bring with me my jacket. Carlo closed the door behind his back, shutting off the loud music all at once. He offered me a light, and there we were smoking.

 

\- Ti manca l’estate, eh?_ he asked finally, after two or three blows. I raised my eyebrow. What a strange question. “ _You miss the summer, don’t you?”_ Yeah, everyone does.

\- A chi più e a chi meno._ he observed. Some people more than the others. I smiled, but I was starting to feel he was up to something. He turned his eyes to me, holding his cigarette between his lips, before putting that aside and starting to talk.

\- Secondo te non li riconosco i froci come te?_ “ _Do you really think I can’t recognize faggots like you?”_

 

I froze, unable to speak. I wanted to return to the disco, but he was in my way.

 _“People like you shouldn’t exist, and are not welcome here.”_ He told me before I could even say a thing. _“You are the scum of our society. You survive just because of liberals. Did you fuck every American guy your papa let in in your house?”_

A feeling of rage and hatred grew inside me, but I managed to play cool. _“I really don’t know what you’re talking about."_

 

 

And then it arrives, right on my face. I fall to the ground, disoriented. He has punched me so hard that my head pulses in pain.

 _“Don’t you ever play your little games with me,”_ he says above me. _“You hungry little slut.”_

I want to run away. Marzia, Chiara, Mattia, where are you? I don’t know what you’re talking about, really. Maybe you’re mistaking me with another person. And then he’s on me. He’s kicking the shit out of me. I try to sit up, but as soon as I try he’s kicking me again and I fall to the ground. He’s far stronger than me, and he took me by surprise. Let go of me. Please. You faggots are all the same, aren’t you? He takes my wrist and pulls me. He’s dragging me to the alley behind. I try to grab something, to set free from his hand, but the more I try the more he stomps, _and stomps and stomps_. I feel the gravel of the ground cutting my back. I try to scream with all the breath I can manage to collect, scream for help. But the music of the disco is too loud for anyone to hear me, and my scream is cut in two by his kick before even starting. You didn’t even recognize me, did you? I could see it from the look of your eyes. This summer you had eyes only for that queer teacher, didn’t you? He murmurs such this kind of things while he drags. Please, _please_. Don’t hurt me. If you want money, it’s in my pockets. Another kick to my ribcage. We reach the alley and he shoves me against the wall. I need some privacy, you know? I’m not as perverted as you.

He unbuttons his pants and pulls out his cock.

 

I start to scream and cry and try to pull away, but he punches me again and kicks me again, and again, and again, every move I dare to make. Just stay still, fuck-head. Stay still!

 

_Stay still._

He lets me see just its reflection, raising it from his pocket before shoving it down into it. _A knife._ I could die if I don’t do what he wants. He lets me register that, before putting his hand again on his half-hard cock. Or maybe, I’ll die no matter what. But I can’t escape, I tried to, but I can’t. He keeps grinning at me, he knows I know that there’s no escape from that. My body hurts so much and my heart pulses so fast that something deep inside of my mind breaks, activating the automatic pilot. I close my eyes, waiting. Standing still as he wants. I won’t look.

 

And then it hits me right on my once well-brushed hair. Warm, wet, fetid. That stream of piss mixes with my tears already falling on my face. It drenches me. _“You felt cold? Here you go.”_

I’m astonished on how I’m reacting to this. It’s ok, do what you want to do. I’m completely fine with that. The stream moves to my shirt, then to my pants, before insisting against my mouth. Drink.

I drink. I can feel his repulsive taste inside my mouth, on my tongue, against my teeth. You did a nice job, soaking me. I don’t know if I’m thinking this or telling him, and I don’t care. It’s like summer, after the last day of school, where people here in Italy chase and wet each other with water pistols to celebrate the event. It’s just like that, I keep repeating. Maybe it’s just because of this that I manage not to vomit.

When the stream finally weakens and then stops, my head is empty. I’m like a puppet, shoved in the alley by some spoiled child. I’m like _his_ puppet. I turn my eyes on him, emotionless. “Did you get enough?” I silently ask with my expression, unable to talk. He still has his cigarette between his lips while he starts to button. He stares at me with a crooked smile. What did you think, you perverted fuck? I’m not a faggot like you. You wanted to shove it in your ass, didn’t you? He could say anything right now, the worst is gone if he buttons. The worst is really gone, isn’t it? He bends over me, and I accompany his movement with my eyes. He stares at me for the entire time. Then, it takes his cigarette from his lips and extinguishes it on my thigh. The pain is piercing, but my scream is broken. I am your puppet, don’t you remember? I smell my burnt flesh, but it’s ok. Done? Done. And now, let me die, as fast as you can. I can see that you’re looking constantly at your pockets, I know what you’re thinking about. I just can’t stand one more kick, even if I do, or one more punch, even if I do. I can’t shed one more tear, I’m sure of that. Why the hell haven’t I passed out yet? Please, _please._ Let me die fast. One faggot less, no? He finally grabs his pocketknife, opens it against me with a click. I close my eyes while he passes it against my neck, drawing little circles on my Adam’s apple with the point as if it was a game. A silly little game.

And then my mind goes to Oliver.

 

_~~Oliver, or should I call you Elio? Will you be me once I leave this world? Will you preserve my smiles, and grins and chuckles in your expressions? Or is that Elio going to die too?~~ _

 

And suddenly, I can’t feel the cold pointy end of the knife on my neck anymore. I open my eyes, and he’s already standing up. _“You can live in your rich villa forever, as far as I care. But if you ever try to set foot in my town, or talk with anyone about this, I’ll have the throats of your parents slit.”_ He then leaves, and I’m alone for the first time in my life.

 


	6. My nightcall

_\- Are you nightcalling me?__ he seems amused. I hear he’s eating something. He’s having dinner, but even if I don’t talk he knows it’s me.

He chews, again and again, waiting for my answer. But I can’t talk.

 _\- Pardon me, who is there?__ he says, realizing that I could be a different person. I hang up the phone, empty-minded. Who is there? It’s a matter of seconds and the four telephones of my house ring at the same time. I pick the phone up as soon as I can, not wanting to disturb my parents.

 _\- Elio, so it’s you.__ now he’s concerned, I can sense it in his voice. _\- Elio, answer me!__

\- Elio?_ I manage to say at last, in a husky voice. I hear some groans upstairs.

 _\- Oliver.__ he answers me. He doesn’t get me. I was wondering myself, rather than asking him. I realize it as soon as he realizes. _\- Elio, what is happening?__

 _-_ Elio, tutto ok?_ I hear my mother’s voice far away up the stairs. He does too.

 _\- Elio call your parents. Now.__ he orders me. I’m starting to cry again. I think it’s the fifth time this night, or the sixth. I just can’t help myself. I can’t call them, I can’t let them see me. But I can’t walk away either.

\- Mom?_ I manage to say, broken. I hear my father groan. She’s waking him up. Footsteps.

 _\- Elio, talk to me. What happened?__ he is scared now. You should regret asking me. I try to murmur something to reassure him that I’m fine, but I just don’t have any words to say. I’m fine, right?

\- Elio!_ I hear my mother scream as soon as she sees me from the stairs. Yeah, I should have looked like a pretty mess down there. A pile of garbage, laying against the table leg. As soon as she starts running to me, Oliver knows that something’s up.

 _\- Samuel! Samuel!__ he shouts in order to get my father’s attention. I leave the phone hanging.

\- He wants Samuel._ I mumble to my mother when she reaches me. She looks me in my eyes, scared. Yeah, I know. Samuel is my father. He wants him nevertheless. Or is it because I’m talking to her in English? Don’t care. I can look her scanning me, smelling me, while my father is rushing to us. Oliver is making a mess on the other side of the phone. “What have they done to you?” it’s the first obvious question. I don’t answer obviously. I can’t tell them. But I can show them. I unbutton my-

 

My…

 

 

**_~~Billowy.~~ _ **

 

 

Drenched in piss. Ripped in some points. It’s gone. And a part of me, a part of Oliver, is gone with it.

 

I shouldn’t have brought it with me, I shouldn’t have brought Oliver with me. It’s all my fault. My fault. _Oliver_. I shouldn’t have called him. If he knows... _if they know_ …

I start to sob hysterically. My mother tries to hug me, but I don’t let her. Please, let me finish, and then you can do of me what you want. Let me finish, and you can be just like _him_. Please. Just tell Oliver so he doesn’t worry too much and stops making such a mess. My father understands my head movement, and he picks up the phone, still hanging from the table.

\- Oliver, is that you?_ I hear him say.

\- Elio…_ my mother says with the most concerned voice. Oliver and Elio.

\- Yes, he’s with us now._ my father says. - No. No._ I can sense from his straight answers that he’s shocked too. My mother is crying already. In the meantime, I manage to unbutton Billowy and let them see the dark bruises that crowd my torso. My ribcage. My mother puts a hand over her mouth before exhaling the most hoarse gasp I ever heard from her. See? I felt the bruises as soon as I was able to walk away. I don’t remember how much time I took to return home, but I had good company. I show them the searing. It’s on my left thigh. “ _He wanted to snuff out the cigarette directly on my crotch, but he realized that it was too wet of his piss there, and that wouldn’t hurt me so much.”_ I mumble to myself. What? No, there’s nothing more. You recognize the smell, don’t you? Yeah, there’s that too. But really, I’m fine. I’m ok.

 

\- He hasn’t said anything yet. Yes, I’ll inform you. Yes._ my father hangs up the phone. Oliver, is he fine? I’m now concerned more about him than myself. My father aims for the front door, but in some way, I manage to take him from his wrist, managing my hand out of the tight hug my mother is already giving me.

 _\- Please. Alone.__ I mutter. I have finished my tears, but please, understand. He stops, realizing how much a pity his son looks like. He hugs me as well as my mother, oblivious of my smell.

\- Noi siamo qui, siamo qui…_ “ _We’re here now, we’re here now, you’re safe”_ , he keeps telling me.

Shower. Can you? I can stand. Help me. Walk me. Mind the carpet, I don’t want to dirty it. You don’t care? Ok. But I could. But ok, fine. Hot water, please. I know, I’m freezing. I’m such a mess, am I not? But I’m fine, I’m fine! Can you wash me, that my arms hurt? No, no bleeding. No blood. No hospital, I’m fine. Yes, I’m sure. I managed to return here, I’m sure. Why are you guys making such a mess? It’s not the first time I’ve been punched. I’m ok. Yes, you can see me naked mom. Just for this time though. No. No. Don’t call the hospital. No! It’s ok, it’s ok. Bed. Couch. Goodnight. I love you too.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I just wanted to thank you for all the support you're giving me for this story! It's been hard for me to write this last couple of chapters, hope I managed to bring some of those Elio and Oliver portrayed in the books and in the movie here in my fanfiction. Obviously there will still be a lot going on as I've already said, but I'd like to know what are your opinions about these first few chapters. I like having feedback on my work, so feel free to tell me what you're thinking here or on [my tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/knight41stories)  
> 


	7. His presence

I feel broken.

And rotten. I can sense he’s still looking at me with his crooked smile. I can see his white teeth grinning through the darkness. His black eyes, looking at me like a snake before jumping at its prey. Studying me. He’s still, I’m still. I’m petrified.

 _Stay still_. I am.

 _Don’t make a single move, don’t move a muscle._ Let me go, please. I won’t tell anyone.

 _You’re mine, aren’t you? You’ve always been._ I’m yours, if you want. I will do everything. But the pain is too much. Just too much. Please _stop_ , you’re hurting me.

_You felt cold? Here you go._

 

* * *

 

 

I open my eyes and he’s rotten too. Oliver’s lying on a chair in front of me, seemingly sleeping. His perfect eyes are dark circled, his hair is messed up, his beard is unshaven. And yet, it’s Oliver, and Elio at the same time. He’s the Oliver I imagined for months and months, concretizing in front of me. In my dream, I’m lying on a bed inside a big white room, smelling aseptic clean. Every inch of my body seems to hurt. But I don’t care about what’s surrounding us nor what I’m feeling, I care about him. He seems so exhausted… Oliver, or should I call you by my name? Please never go away. My movements make him gasp and wake up from our dream.

His tired eyes are suddenly on me. And looking down on me, he starts to cry. I don’t know if for joy or sorrow, he is crying on me.

 

I’ve never seen him cry. It’s not a thing he would do, is it? I mean, I cried in front of him, once. A lazy day in summer, ages and ages ago. His lips had tasted like peach, and so mine. But his tears…

\- Elio… thank God, you finally woke up._ I can hear his voice from the distance. _Oliver. Oliver’s voice._ Muffled, but not filtered by the telephone white noise. I manage to smile, while my eyes water.

 

And then, it happens. He tries to hold my hand.

The same way he’s done for two weeks, after the note slipped under his door. _The same way_ , I’ll keep repeating and repeating. It’s Oliver, but even if it’s him…

I feel I’m being dragged away. I feel the gravel under my back, my screams, _his cock, his grin, his piss._ It’s like being there again, and even if I try, I _fucking_ try in that split second to be hold by him, it’s too much, _too much_. Please, please, let me go.

He’s shocked at my sudden hand movement: he doesn’t recognize me. I wouldn’t recognize myself either. I tried. But I can’t, _I just can’t_. _Please, understand._ He’s helpless and lost, just like me.

\- Did I hurt you?_ he asks me in a husky voice.

\- He’s been traumatized, sweetheart. And he’s on painkillers._ says a different feminine voice. Suddenly I feel a piercing light against my eyes, and I tilt my head. - He’s responding well._

Oliver puts his chair closer to my head, as reacting with his proximity to the fact that I’d feel awful if he touched me. I feel awful for that instead. I want your hands, your touch, your presence. I’ll give you my hand. But please, please, please don’t hold it.

It seems he has understood though, and start caressing my fingers with his thumb. - _Elio_ …_ he mutters, so concerned about me. Oliver, I missed you, even if you’re just a dream. He sniffs before smiling. _I’m not a dream, you little goose._ Yes, you are my dream. And promise me you won’t ever go away because I need you. Because I’m feeling so fragile and stranded and rotten, and I’d shatter completely if you go away. And yes, I know it’s selfish, but aren’t we both?

His tears continue to wet his cheeks. Don’t cry for me, please, I can’t look at you in this way. It’d be just as looking through a mirror, and I can’t stand the Elio you’re reflecting right now. I feel he wishes to kiss me, to embrace my body with his big comforting arms, and let me drown my all my woes on his shoulders.

And with my woes, the memory would have faded away, and I’d return that 17-years-old Elio who once told you he knew nothing about the things that really matter. _\- I’m here.__

 

Are you?

 

Yes, as long as you want me.

 

 

 

 

You’ll have to go eventually.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No, I won’t this time.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, hope you're enjoying the story so far! I like having feedback on my work, so feel free to tell me what you're thinking here or on [my tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/knight41stories)  
> 


	8. The hospital

I never thought nightmares could be so vivid. Realistic, in some sense… bitter, in the other. When I open my eyes and there’s still him at my side, on the very same stupid plastic chair, sleeping soundly against the bed I’m lying on, the first thing I manage to think is that my brain couldn’t be more ruthless.

In addition to this, everything hurts. In a muffled and distant way, but I can sense the pain pulsing from my head to the ribcage, down through my backbone. And _Oliver_ , Oliver is still there. Please, let me wake up once and for all. I need to wake up.

 

When I manage to gasp, I hear someone wincing with me from the other side of the bed. I turn my head, and they’re suddenly above me. My parents’ faces look ten years older: tired, red-rimmed eyes. - Tesoro, siamo qui con te!_ my mother manages to say, before crying. They’re here with me. The question is: am I here with them?

They tell me they had to bring me to the hospital. They had to, despite all my efforts not to. The doctors had strongly sedated me since I kept moving, and I have been there for four days. I have confused memories. They tell me it’s normal.

But nothing is normal, not when I turn my head once again, and he’s still at my side. It’s just another nightmare, another nightmare I have to wake up from. I’ve had enough, I tell them. I’m imagining everything, am I not? Both my parents manage a smile.

\- No, non lo siamo._ says my mother, drying her tears on a sleeve. I turn my head to him again. Is this all real?

\- Once I told him what happened, he was already preparing his things._ my father explains. - He was saving up his money to make you a surprise for New Year’s Eve. He changed his ticket, took the first flight to Milan and was here as soon as he could._

\- Since then, he’s remained with you all the time._ my mother adds.

 

Oliver. My Oliver was here at my side. It was meant to be a surprise.

\- I didn’t know he could sleep so soundly._ my father tries to joke.

\- Me neither._ I observe. I just can’t believe that I’m seeing him again. But he looks exhausted, as I remembered him in my dream. Or worse.

I feel guilty. He has returned because of me. What about his job? What about his duties in New York?

\- He called Columbia. I called too. They won’t make a mess for only two days before the Christmas holidays._ my father tells me. I’m relieved with that news.

 

I try to say something, but suddenly I have a piercing pain coming from my back, making me wheeze. Oliver wakes up with a gasp.

\- Dottore!_ I hear my mother shouting. The door quickly opens, and a person that I don’t recognize enters the room. He tells me something I don’t get, and then he hands me some pills I gulp down with the aid of a glass of water.

All of a sudden, I feel that I still have _his_ taste in my mouth. Putrid, dry. I have the abrupt feeling to throw up, but I have nothing in my stomach. The doctor adjusts me to my side, as I’m expelling the two pills I had just swallowed on a little paper bag he’s handing me. I’m feeling awful. I can feel Oliver’s eyes on me, he’s as petrified as my parents. What a great way to meet each other again after so long.

\- Non ti preoccupare, è normale._ the doctor tells me. He says that he would pass my medicines through the IV.

\- Lui sta ok?_ Oliver asks the doctor, with one of the strongest Italian accent I’d ever heard. He then blushes instantaneously, realizing I was half-smiling in amusement, even if I was still recovering from my nausea.

\- Ha bisogno di riposare._ I needed to rest.

\- So there’s nothing to worry about._ I realize as soon as I’m saying it that I’m behaving strangely. It was me in that bed, I should have been the one to be reassured. I should be the one to panic, not the one amused by Oliver’s brand new Italian. But something in my mind’s telling me that I don’t care. I only cared that they cared. I know that it sounds wrong, but I can’t make myself feel something I don’t feel.

 

Once the doctor leaves the room, we remain looking at each other for some seconds.

\- So you weren’t a dream._ I manage to say. He has teary eyes. He smirks, with an “I told you so” expression on his face.

\- Annella, let’s leave them alone for a moment._ my father says, standing up.

My mother looks at me one more time and nods. - Honey, we’re at the end of the corridor._ she says closing the door behind her. And we’re finally alone.

 

\- You never told me._

\- What?_

\- That you starred in “The Godfather”._

He blushes again, smirking, even if I can feel al his concern. - Will you ever stop teasing me?_

\- Maybe._ I giggle. Or at least try to. My chest hurts too much.

\- Easy, easy._ he tells me, bending over me. - They gave you painkillers but don’t move ok?_

I nod. He reads the bother from my expression and moves to hold my hand, before realizing that this still upsets me. He stops suddenly, then gently moves his hand under mine, caressing my fingers with his thumb as he has done before. We were finally touching again and I was spoiling it all. All I wanted to do was kissing him, and I couldn’t even laugh properly. I couldn’t even hold his hand.

\- Oliver…_ I finally say with watery eyes. - I'm so sorry…_

He hushes me with his caring voice. - You don’t have to be sorry about that. It’s normal. I should be sorry. You were holding your mother’s hand and somehow I thought… How stupid I am sometimes._ feeling that I was specifically excluding him out hurts me more than I can imagine.

\- You’re not stupid… it’s my fault._

\- No, it’s not your-_

\- It’s all my fault. You being here... Having spoiled your surprise..._

\- Ah? If you want I can return to New York._ he teases me.

\- So I should be the goose of the two._

He chuckles softly. - You will always be my little goose._

I manage a smile, and he smiles in return.

 

\- Elio, what did it happen?_ He finally says. He isn’t scolding me, he’s just concerned.

I gulp and turn my head to the ceiling. I cannot tell him. I wish, but I can’t. And even if I could, I remember the words _he_ told me. All the people I love would have suffered the consequences of my actions.

\- I don’t remember._ it’s the only thing that comes to my mind at this moment. I don’t remember, and everything’s going to be all right. It’s the simplest lie, and yet the hardest compromise between me and him.

\- Elio, look at me._ I look. He has tears all over his cheeks, just like me.  - You know that if you want to talk, I’m here for you?_

\- Yes._ I manage to say. I know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> God, I just can't thank you enough for all the comments, and the subscribers, and the kudos and the general support you all are giving me! It means a lot :)
> 
> It took me a long time to write this chapter, first version of it wouldn't just sound fine and Oliver's finally here with Elio, and I just wanted to describe that moment the best that I could. I like having feedback on my work, so feel free to tell me what you're thinking here or on [my tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/knight41stories)  
> 


	9. My fears

_I’m there again. In that alley. Helpless, alone, devastated. He unbuttons his jeans. I can see his hands moving against the rough fabric. He’s above me. He could have done worse, I keep repeating it. He could have done worse._

_He_ does _worse. He takes me by my wrist and directions me. I try to detach from his grip, but he punches me again, and again, and again. He scolds me because I’m not being a proper toy. Toys shouldn’t complain, he says. And then I break, and I break again and again. He moves me, I…_

**_~~His cock tastes like-~~ _ **

 

\- Elio! Elio!_ I’m breathing heavily. - It’s just a nightmare!_

I look at Oliver. He’s at my side. It’s deep night but he’s still here on his chair on the side of my bed. We’re alone. - It’s over._

It is over. Is it? Yes.

And then I start to cry. And he… he doesn’t know what to do. He wants to cheer me, to touch me, to hold me in his arms, but he knows better not to do anything rather than panicking me more. I want to hug him, I really want. But I don’t know how I will react. _He_ _has taken it away from me_. Thinking about him it’s too painful, it’s so painful that for a moment all the bruises of my body fade away. I need Oliver’s touch, he knows, he’s already under my hand with his hand, I stop crying eventually but we both know it’s not enough.

\- I can lie on your side if it’s OK with you._ I turn my head up on him, and then I nod.

\- I’ll call the nurse, I don’t want to move you by myself._ he then opens the door and calls for assistance. His awful Italian cheers me up a little, but it’s still not enough. The nurse arrives, she’s a middle-aged woman who doesn’t hide her irritation for the request but moves me without complaining. I feel pain, but I hide it well. Painkillers are still working. She closes the door behind her, and we’re alone again.

 

\- Ok, let’s do it gradually, so you can tell me if I have to stop._

 _“I’ll kill you if you stop”_. It seems ages and ages ago. I nod. I know doing this thing hurts him inside, even if he hides it from me. It’s all my fault…

He starts by just sitting there, then he slowly lies on his side next to me. Done. I can’t move my body a lot, but we’re here, face to face. He looks at me with gleaming blue eyes, as to ask me _“Are you OK with that? I’m here now.”_ I’m OK. _“Can I touch your hand?”_ You can touch it. _“Can I…”_ We can try, but… -It’s…?_ Yes.

 

\- _It was all my fault_._ I finally start.

\- No, it wasn’t. Elio-_

\- I shouldn’t have gone to the Disco.. I shouldn’t have-_ I stop myself, unable to continue.

\- Shh… it wasn’t your fault._ he comforts me, caressing my hand.

\- I was… I was so scared…_ I say in a husky voice, with teary eyes again. - I was so scared he could have…_ Oliver looks up at me, and suddenly I feel I’m letting my secret slip from my lips. I can feel in his eyes all the anger he feels against my aggressor, even if he tries to hide it from me.

\- You’re here now. No one is going to hurt you again, I promise you._

\- You… you can’t promise it._

\- I’m serious, Elio._ I can understand it by his expression. - No one is going to hurt you anymore._

I contemplate his eyes for a while before speaking again.

\- Oliver, can you hug me?_

He falls silent for a moment. - Are you sure?_ he finally asks.

\- Do it slowly and I’m sure I’ll be ok._ I lie. I’m not sure, but I want it. And then his free arm moves, gradually and tenderly encircling me in his delicate hug. I have no panic attack. I’m just there, feeling protected once again. I could cry out of joy this time if only I had tears remaining.

\- I’m here with you. I won’t leave you again._ I know that this is the hundredth time he says that, but his words manage to calm me.

 

\- Oliver…_

\- Yes?_

\- I love you._ I know it’s the first time I tell him. But it’s like when you realize something, and by the time you realize it, you just need to say it. I look at his eyes once again, and once again they are shiny with tears. He’s smiling at me. He’s been waiting for it for months, I know it since I’ve done it too. And still, somehow, I managed to catch him unprepared.

\- I love you too, my little goose._

 

 

 

 

 

\- Will you ever stop calling me by that nickname?_

\- Maybe._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> God, I just can't thank you enough for all the comments, and the subscribers, and the kudos and the general support you all are giving me! It means a lot :) Special thanks to [asuralucier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuralucier/pseuds/asuralucier) and my boyfriend who helped me fix, respectively, last and this chapter. 
> 
> This is the last chapter that I had in my sleeve, so I apologize in advance if the updates will be less frequent. I like having feedback on my work and networking in general, so feel free to tell me what you're thinking here or on [my tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/knight41stories)  
> 


	10. His proper toy

 

 _ ~~I love you, Oliver.~~ _ ~~~~

 

You’ve spoiled it. It should have been in the berm, the first time that you kissed him, in a sunny, summer, faded day. It could have been on your balcony, after a shared cigarette, his blue eyes gleaming in the pale moonlight. _God_ , it should have happened New Year’s Eve, during the countdown, just a moment before the cheers for the year to come. Being there with you was his surprise, his surprise _for you_ \- ~~you don’t deserve anything~~ \- and that’s the way you repaid him, spoiling it all. You’ve spoiled it all _just for the sake of it_.

 

No... you don’t really love him as you said. You love that he’s here, that he’s returned for you, that he’s having troubles with his job just to be at your side, you love it, don’t you? You _adore_ it, you _hungry little slut_. You adore to be in the spotlight, God, you’ve only been punched, _for fuck’s sake_. And you had to behave like a spoiled brat, you had to call him in the middle of the night, just to do the little skits you’d already prepared on your way home. You just had to behave like a proper toy, _his_ toy, not Oliver’s, and freeze to death in a corner of the road. Oliver would have moved on without you, he would have settled down with a brand new, perfect life, and everyone would have forgotten you eventually. Broken toys are not supposed to be remembered. They just go in the trash bin. _He_ just did what a normal person would have done: throwing you away. Because, let’s be honest, you were already broken, weren’t you?

 

Let’s think about it for a moment:

 

You’ve always spoiled everything you touched. You could have been friends, good friends, but you had to fall in love with him, and ruin his life once and for all. He wanted to be good because he _knew_ himself, and so far you hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of. He _knew_ himself, and you didn’t care. _Who is to know?_

 _He_ knew.

 _He knew_ _~~he knew **he knew**~~_.

 _This summer you had eyes only for that queer teacher, didn’t you?_ I taste blood in my mouth. He grins at me, _he grins. I’ll never, ever play my little games with you again, I promise._ _You wanted to shove it in your ass, didn’t you?_

 

You made him love you. It’s your fault. It’s all your fault, no matter what he keeps repeating. You’ve trapped him in your perverted, little game. Your little game of glances, hints, unspoken words. _Did I offend you?_ you had asked him, having your filthy hand resting on his crotch. _Just don’t. Just don’t. Just don’t. Just don’t. Just don’t._ Why didn’t you stop? Why didn’t you behave properly? He was asking you to stop, and you didn’t. That’s what a broken toy would do. _See?_

 

Is it blood leaking from your nose?

_“I’m a mess, aren’t I?”, sucking his cock and thinking that it has the same taste as Oliver’s._ Ghiaccio, ice, Mafalda, per favore, presto! _It’s different, veiny, thicker the way little sluts like it. It smells like piss, but the taste is just the same as_ his _. I can choke at any moment, but I don’t care. I don’t care because I’m finally behaving like I am supposed to behave. I’ve finally accepted the role the world gave me, I’m letting him do everything. He directions me up and down his shaft, up and down, groaning like an animal._ Please stop? _Ah! Don’t stop._ “You’ll kill me if you stop” _._ I’ll have the throats of your parents slit. _Because he’ll stop eventually, won’t he? When are you going to throw me away? You’ve always been a perverted prick, haven’t you? Yes, you’re right. Just take it deeper, then. Deeper. ** ~~All.~~**_

 

I wake up and I’m already crying this time, hiding my wet face against the side of his shoulder like a filthy little parasite.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like having feedback on my work and networking in general, so feel free to tell me what you're thinking here or on [my tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/knight41stories)  
> P.S. Currently looking for a good (and spoiler-alerted) soul who knows medicine. If you're out there let me know so we can talk (even if you don't have tumblr).


	11. The medicine

 

 

_..._

 

The nurse told us he’ll be ok eventually.

The doctor?

He’s been busy, we didn’t manage to talk to him.

He’s his patient! He should be there explaining to you what’s happening!

Elio, listen to me, it’s Mom, can you hear me?

 

 

_~~Yes.  
~~ _

I’m going to find the doctor.

Samuel, he could be everywhere right now, he’ll arrive sooner or later, and Elio needs you at his side. He needs us all!

Annella, if I can do something for you…

You did too much already, tesoro.

I’ll bring you some water.

Samuel, _please…_

 

_I look up, and my mother is still crying. Oliver’s ~~hugging her, trying to co **mfort**~~ **-**_

… your parents are at the police station.

 

_I’m alone with Oliver now._

 

You were just having a panic attack. _Just a panic attack._ I don’t know anything about medicine, but this… the doctor says it’s safer this way, that you’ll heal faster if you don’t move, but I can’t stand the fact that they have turned you… _into this._ I… I just hope you’ll heal as fast as they say and we can finally go home.

Mafalda has brought some pasta. Fettuccine al ragù. She said it was your favou-

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It’s a sunny day outside. Sun shines through the glimmering reflections of the fresh snow, dawning on a silent, calm morning. My room’s window overlooks a private parking lot of the hospital, and no one is around. There’s only me, and Oliver, sleeping on the other side of the bed. He isn’t hugging me anymore – he realized that if he fell asleep he wouldn’t be able to hug me as I used to need - but he’s still here with me. I can hear his soft rhythmic breath filling his lungs and puffing away over my neck, his eyelid relaxed.

 

They had sedated me. Strongly sedated me. That’s what they keep repeating, my mother, my father, even Oliver himself, from time to time. They had to, they say. And it’s ok, I try to answer, but words just don’t come out of my mouth. If the doctor knows it’s the right thing for me, so be it. But they keep crying and crying, I have enough of that. It’s so strange feeling so numb that in some way it nauseates me to see other persons being so pity about my conditions. So quiet mornings like this are the only moment when I can be alone with what remains of my thoughts.

 

It’s been four days since the incident. I don’t remember well what happened, they told me that I woke up in the middle of the night, crying, but I know there’s more they don’t want to tell me. Oliver and the nurses tried to stop me but to no avail. _They had to, they had to._ And now, I’m so empty that I don’t care anymore. Days go by, time passes and I have absolutely no sense of it, but I’m fine, and that’s all that matters now. 

 

\- Is he ok?_

I look. I’ve zoned out again. Marzia seems about to cry.

\- He’s been on medication. He… he’s not very talkative._ my mother’s watery eyes wander from her to me, delicately adjusting the sheets of my bed for the thousandth time. My parents have been repeating it for even more in the last few days. I didn’t know how many people actually cared for me so much to pay me a visit. Visit time was every day from 11 to 12.30 AM and from 3 to 5.30 PM. They were very stringent about that, especially the night shift nurse. Considering they were already turning a blind eye to Oliver staying with me during the night, my family seems to accept it. Oliver’s luggage lies at the corner of the room: he didn’t even go to the villa to leave his things.

 

I turn my head to him. He’s sitting by my side on the reclined bed, like a sentinel. He’s always like this when other people than my family come visit me. They told me that Marzia was the first person to come after what had happened. She had found me deeply sedated the first time, and today wasn’t that different. Unlucky Marzia. She’s speaking with me, but I don’t really get what she’s saying. She talks about the fact that she’s sorry about something.

\- … I couldn’t just… once they told me what they have done to you…_

\- He. It’s a _he_._ Oliver sentences.

Marzia looks at me for a moment before holding my hand. - Elio… it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have left-_

\- He doesn’t like being held._ Oliver rudely interrupts her. - Or at least, he didn’t when he woke up._ Marzia withdraws with another apology. “ _It’s not your fault”,_ I try to tell her, and that’s what my mother mutters in her ears while she hugs her. Oliver keeps being silent. When she finally leaves my room with my mother, it takes him some moments to talk again. - I know what you’re thinking, you kept looking at me the whole time._ He looks at the window, before opening one of the many books he keeps reading for me. – I’ll apologize to her, don’t worry, but she… she…_ he stops for a moment. - Never mind, I haven’t slept well today._ he lies. I know ~~something’s up in his mind, I know. **He’s not-**~~

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, first one thing I have to apologize to all of you for the delay. I'm going through a difficult and busy moment of my life, and the fact that this chapter was hard to write (balancing between being interesting enough and a sedated Elio's POV) didn't help. I really hope you'll like this chapter even if it's only transitional (I've prepared a lot of things for the next ones, but first they needed a proper introduction).  
> As usual, I like having feedback on my work and networking in general, so feel free to tell me what you're thinking here or on [my tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/knight41stories)  
> 


	12. My Carabosse

Falling asleep was the first thing to do. The first, and truest thing I’d ever done in my life. I can realize it now, on my bed, falling apart piece after piece. I can feel my body relaxing, my pain going away, _me_ going away, away and away, out of my own reach. Falling asleep is easy, too easy. Warm. Warm and cozy. These are all the sensations I have when _she_ ’s there with me, when she’s smiling at me, a kind smile. Oliver caresses my fingers the whole time, looking at me as if he could be of any help, as if in some way he could relieve me from some of my pain.

But it’s ok, Oliver. Don’t worry about me. What for? See, I hated needles, and now I’m here, I don’t care anymore. There’s no need to worry, there’s no need to ask her. I’m ok. I’ve always been ok, haven’t I?

 

Falling asleep makes me forget how much I miss you. Everything of you. Your beautiful smiles, your kisses, your touch. Your hugs, your _true_ hugs. Your voice, parroting me. Me parroting you. Our chats. The balcony, my room, our room, apricot juice. Your red, blue, green bathing suits, I miss all of them. And I know that you’re actually here with me, but… it’s not the same, _it’s not the same…_ And every time I start to miss you, every time I start to feel something other than numbness, she takes everything away, she sweeps everything under the carpet, again and again. Every day this hour: 9 PM.

 

I know I should hate this. I should hate being away from you. But, as I said, it’s easy. It’s easy to feel nothing, more than you’ll ever know. You… you loathe it. If it was up to you, every syringe of this hospital would have been put at the stake by now. I can feel it every time before going away. Fear. Rage. Strain. You think you can hide everything, but you’re as decipherable as an open book for me. And this time, before parting from me, before 9 PM, before _her_ , I know that something is wrong even before you start to talk.

 

 

\- I… I phoned my parents._ it’s the only thing he manages to say, before lying on this bed with me. He reaches to my side, half-hugging me, and doesn’t say anything more. His parents… I… my thoughts are muddled, there’s something I should be supposed to remember. I turn my head to look at him, but... he’s distant now, looking somewhere between my neck and my shoulder, _thinking_. Something that is hard for me to do. But… his eyes are lucid. Was… was he crying?

He looks up at me only after some instants, emerging from somewhere deep in his mind.

\- I have to make some phone calls. Now._ he tells me, as waiting for my approval. -It’s near 9… you, can you..?_

I look at his blue eyes one more time and nod. Go.

 

And when he leaves me, swearing it won’t take too long, when I’m alone again, and she enters the room with my medicine, I feel I’m starting to cry again. I can’t do anything for him, I can’t even talk or hug him the way I should and he deserves.

\- Ancora a piangere? Quando la smetterai mai?_ “ _Still crying? When will you stop?”_ the nurse scolds me. It’s the first time she actually speaks directly to me. She’s preparing my medicine on the table at the side of my bed. - Vorrà dire che te ne darò di più oggi._ _“Then I’ll give you more this time.”_

When she finishes, she takes my arm with a sudden move, and insert the needle in my vein without a second thought. I turn my head not to look at it, Oliver isn’t here to comfort me, so I have to be strong… ~~to **be…**~~

 

 _ ~~\- Come va adesso? Niente più lamentele?_~~_ How are you? No more complaints?

_~~It’s like falling. Falling inside the fog. It’s like being an empty shell, washed away by the next wave.~~ _

_~~\- Il tuo “amichetto” non è qui con te questa volta, eh?_~~_ Your “friend” isn't here with you this time, is he?

_~~Elio? Where…?~~ _

_~~\- Lo sai quanto costano le medicine che il dottore ti voleva dare?_~~_ You know how much do the medicines the doctor wanted to give you cost?

_~~Now she’s changing my IV. She smiles at me.~~ _

_~~\- Sarebbero stati tutti soldi buttati, gliel’ho detto! Tutto figlio di sua madre, a voi sporchi ebrei fatica ancora a considerarvi per quello che siete. Non solo sporchi ebrei, pure froci! Proprio uno spreco di risorse utili ai pazienti più bisognosi!_~~_ It would have been just a waste of money, I told him! He’s his mother’s son, always having a hard time considering you dirty jews as the people you are. Dirty jews _and_ faggots! A waste of resources for those most in need, I say!

_~~Her voice is soft, distant, **far away. The IV is kicking in, and every drop that’s slipping in my veins through the long and tiny plastic tube I’m a bit farther too, a bit more empty. I… I don’t-**~~ _

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like having feedback on my work and networking in general, so feel free to tell me what you're thinking here or on [my tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/knight41stories)  
> 


	13. His place

-My grandmother died._

 

That’s the only thing he manages to say. The only thing, up on his chair, looking through the window that cold morning. His eyes are swollen, his voice is dry.

\- Heart attack. Three days ago. I figured you wanted to know._ he tells me after some moments, turning his head to me for an instant - just an instant - because he’s afraid of our eye-contact, afraid to give too much away. He thinks that, even in this state, I know him.

 

I don’t. _I don’t_.

Not as he wanted me to. Not as he _deserved_ to be known from a person he invested so much into. I don’t even feel sad for him. He’s caressing my hand even up on his spot, even after what he’s just said, even if I should be the one to comfort him, not the other way round… _and I don’t even feel sad._ He looks again at the window, and silence falls on us. He’s been so silent this morning, and now I know.

\- They held her funeral yesterday._ he bitterly states after a while. - I… I knew it after a phone call. _My_ phone call. _They_... they didn’t even bother to call me. They-_

When Oliver starts to cry, he doesn’t sob, nor sigh. Bitter tears start to wet his cheeks, but he’s silent, he lets them fall for some moments, still. And I... I can’t do anything but listen, watching him weeping his face with his sleeve and start to talk again.

 

\- She... she was my grandmother. _My grandmother_ for God’s sake. She... she was the only one who really cared about-... I had every right to know. I was her _only grandson_! They... they could just have turned a blind eye on me this time. They could have made someone call me, last summer I gave them your house number for this kind of reasons, but... they were too busy. They were too busy to make a _fucking call_. Bullshit, I know that they did it on purpose. And they know I know. They did it because I had severed my relations with them and they wanted to give me a taste of my own medicine. No matter if Bubbe ended up taking the fall for all of this, no matter if I’m their fucking son, no. _They’re the worst people I’ve ever known._ _ He states, in an husky voice. He keeps caressing my hand, but his eyes are distant, lost, glassy.

 

\- I told them all of this, and in return, they asked me not to call them anymore. _“Enjoy your sunny Italian life with that whore you evidently found and - guess what - don’t want us to know about. She’s obviously a pretty decent catch since you saved up all the money you’re finally earning just to return in a place halfway across the world.”_ See? They know nothing about me, and they even thought they could have the final say of what I’m doing with my money. They... the same parents that refused to help me to pay the rent when I moved to New York to study Classics. _“Effeminate matter”_ they simply stated. I had to follow my father and my grandfather before him, studying Law. _“Family tradition, not that faggot thing that will spoil you.”_ The same ones that got so angry when I told them I didn’t want to get married to throw everything away from my room in their house. I should have known that they were already capable of this kind of things, but _this_ …

She was the only one in that family… in _my_ family… to really care about me, no matter what. Every time I risked to be kicked out of the house during high school she was there for me. She was there for me when I moved out to New York and start again in Columbia, calling me every day to check if I was doing ok… I know that could sound bizarre, a guy helped by his grandmother in this type of things, but she was the only family I had. And now she’s gone, gone forever._

When he finally turns his head and sits with me on the reclined bed, he’s so tired and emotionally drained that he remains silent for a while.

\- They… they wanted a perfect son, a yes-man, a person that knew his place and submit to them, and all they got is me. But I already proved them wrong, don’t you see?_ he asks me, finally looking me in the eye. - I know my place, and it’s here with you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being late, but that's what you get if you work both on the phone and the laptop and the app overwrites your entire new chapter with a previous version of it. I tried to recover the pieces I remembered, but obviously it sounded too fake and I had to restart it again. As usual, if you find some mistakes or want to give me your opinion, feel free to drop a comment here or on [my tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/knight41stories)  
> 


	14. The silence

 

Oliver is reading a book to me when my parents enter my room. I watch them closing the door behind, while Oliver puts his book about ancient treasures on the nightstand. My parents look tired... and concerned. More than usual.

\- Did you talk with the doctor?_ Oliver asks, after greeting both of them. He looks tense.

\- Yes. Just a couple of minutes ago._

-… And?_

My father sits on a chair in front of his side of the bed, while my mother takes my hand on the other side.

\- We asked him everything. We told him that we were concerned about how Elio’s being treated. We asked him how long his body will take to heal, and he told us that it depends, but he could be discharged in three weeks._

- _Three weeks?__

\- Optimistically._ my father states, before falling in one of his usual silences.

\- And when are they going to reduce… what they’re giving him right now?_

\- The doctor said it’s a gradual process, it’s a relatively new medicine and…_ my mother stops, contemplating me with dry eyes.

\- As soon as possible._ my father says.

\- Perfect!_ Oliver sounds relieved. - So today they’re…_ he stops, maybe realizing something. My parents’ expressions are tense.

\- What do you mean, _“as soon as possible”_?_ he asks. Silence falls into the room.

 

\- They noticed that he started to act as… _as he acted_ the night you slept with him._ my father crosses his arms, looking the side of my bed almost absentmindedly.

\- _What-_ What are you trying to say?_ Oliver asks after some moments.

My mother looks at him. - Honey, we know that is a coincidence but-_

\- It’s not a coincidence, it was his first night being conscious after the operation, it has to be this, it has-_

\- They’re not willing to take the risk of another episode like that, Oliver._ my father interrupts him. - Or rather, they’re not willing to take the risk with the same premises._

\- I… I don’t understand, you…_

\- It’d be just a matter of a day or two._ my mother tells him.

\- But they’re not starting it if you’re still here._

 

Oliver stops, suddenly very still. - Do you even understand what you’re asking me? _What you’re asking Elio?_ Do you understand that in a _normal hospital,_ and not this - _circus…_ It’s a shakedown. A senseless shakedown. Me or… _him_. They didn’t ask for any psychological help, they turned him into a _fucking_ zombie and… and NOW it’s my fault?!?_

\- We’re not telling you it’s your fault, but-_

\- You saw him. He was feeling protected, he even joked about my Italian accent, he- _He even told me that-… that he-__

\- Only a day or two, and you can return._ my father cuts short.

\- And you really think they’re going to accept me again, Samuel? I know how they look at me, _at us_. That nurse especially, you never see her while she’s here because she does the night shift, but I’m not blind, I’m-_

\- She’s just doing her job, Oliver, she suggested this compromise to the doctor herself._

Oliver’s eyes go wide. - I knew she was behind it. _I knew it._ She’s-_

\- Oliver, calm down. You’re too tired, everyone can see it. Just come with us to the villa for a night, Elio will be good._

\- I- I’m not leaving, Annella. You- you can’t ask me to leave him. Not now. _Not with her_. I’m remaining, and they’re going to reduce the sedatives._

\- They’re not going to do that._

\- Samuel, take it easy on him. _Help me_ , please._

\- Si sta comportando come un bambino, come dovrei reagire?_

\- Speak English, or he won’t understand us._

\- I’m not leaving him, Samuel. Please, _please_. Don’t make me leave, I know they won’t let me stay with him again. They were looking for an excuse to kick me out from day one._

\- You can’t be sure._

\- Then ask them to stay, Annella. Ask them to stay in my place._

\- It’s our decision, don’t you get it, Oliver? It’s not yours._

\- _Samuel, please…_ _

\- Annella, Elio è nostro figlio, lui non può decidere per noi._

\- Speak English, he-_

\- Just let me talk to th-_

\- _They saw you._ _ my father spits out, raising his voice. - The nurse saw you two _kissing.__

Oliver stops.

 

\- After everything the police officer had told us, Oliver, that probably what Elio had… had _to suffer_ was a homophobic action, _you kiss him in public?__

\- I-… I remember I had closed the door, Samuel believe me that-…_

\- _Remember_ … I don’t know what you two did last Summer and I was willing to turn a blind eye on that because _I knew_ that it wasn’t your fault what happened to my son. But now…_

\- We had decided to-_

\- Let me finish, Annella. Now… I’m starting to have my doubts._

\- Samuel, we did absolutely nothing last Summer, I swear that…_

\- So you’re saying that you never kissed out in the open? That you’re sure that no one has seen you, other than that nurse? Can you guarantee that?_

\- I-_ Oliver looks down closing his eyes, ashamed. There’s nothing to say, nothing to do anymore. My mother stands up, heading to Oliver, maybe trying to comfort him, but my father stops her.

\- We’ll leave you alone with him as long as you want today, but you’re returning home with us._ he states. And all I can think, while Oliver takes my hand and starts to cry telling me he’s sorry, is that sunny, summer, faded day in the berm, the first time that his lips touched mine.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "He's behaving like a child, what am I supposed to say?"
> 
> "Annella, Elio is our son, he can't decide for us."
> 
>  
> 
> \-----
> 
> I always thought that what had happened to Elio wasn't going to change only him. Hope you like how's the story is developing from the source material. As usual, if you find some mistakes or want to give me your opinion, feel free to drop a comment here or on [my tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/knight41stories)  
> 


	15. My eyes

She’s here.

 

With me. It’s the deep of the night, I can barely see, but she’s here. She’s always been here. She’s opened my window, the night breeze entering my room. _I’m cold, please… please close._ _I’m shivering._ She opens wider. She looks at me, with her stern face, holding a cigarette in her hands, I see her, and I see _his_ face. I see the outline of his face, behind the dim, flickering light. He’s grinning. Her teeth, white in the dark, his face, the pain, my tears. He left you alone, didn’t he? At last.

 

At last.

 

He knew you, or rather, you both thought he knew you. But he’s in love with someone else. He’s in love with a shadow of a shadow. A faded memory. Not you. _You’re trash_. Only trash. Trash cannot be loved. Can’t you remember this simple fact?

 

_Oliver?_

 

He’s not coming, he’ll never return. Listen to your rotten voice, you sound like a pathetic brat. A spoiled child. You came out wrong. _Is it fire?_ No, a cigar stump. Do you still feel it on your skin? Deep inside you? Do you still smell the stench? Do you still remember _what_ you are? For him, for everyone? Tears are no use. Stop crying.

-Non vedo l’ora che te ne vada, anche le tue lacrime puzzano di spazzatura._ ‘ _I can’t wait for you to go away, your tears smell like trash as everything else.’_ she sentences. _Cry, cry, cry, is that all you can do? I didn’t know fags could be that bothering._

I look at her, at _him_ , at Oliver. At my reflection - should I call you Elio or Oliver? -, on his knife drawing small circles around my throat. I can feel its coldness against me, my eyes shining in the dark full of tears. That beaming knife, the stench, his voice... _Stop._

_Please stop._

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s strange, being able to remember what happened, after all the days I spent in a bed feeling nothing. Memories are there, lurking in a corner of my mind, they’re confused, fragmentary, I can remember all the hurt _he_ caused me, the gravel against my back, his grip, _his smile_ … they’re just there, like my pain. When I open my eyes, I’m sweating cold. Breathing is hard, I ache all over, ribcage included. Still, the pain is less than I remember, I’m getting better, as I try to say to my mother, before mouthing a hoarse “I’m thirsty”. My throat is so dry it hurts.

She reclines my bed with a button, and then fills my glass with some fresh water. I raise my arm and she finally hands it to me, feebly smiling. Maybe it’s because I don’t need her help anymore for an action as simple as drinking. Or maybe because I’m talking again.

\- Are… are you ok?_ she asks me.

\- It’s… I’m getting better._ I’m finally aware of it.

\- Good._ she says, relieved. - That’s all it counts._

I try to smile at her, but all I can think of now is Oliver.

\- He's in the waiting room, on the ground floor._ she tells me. I have confused memories about what happened, I remember him being forced to leave for some reason.

\- He returned home for a couple of days, after talking with your father. We tried to let things cool down, but I’m afraid they won’t allow you to be alone anymore._ she states, looking down and holding my hand, paying attention not to touch the bandages covering my wrist. I… why do I…? I still feel too numb to completely process what she’s told me. I just want to see him… _really see him_ again.

-When Samuel returns from the caffetteria I’ll go get him._ she adds, avoiding my eyes. When my father enters the room and sits on his chair, it doesn’t take a genius to work out that something’s wrong with them. My mother just stands up and leaves without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I had for the delay of this last chapter. Exam session here in Italy is pretty f up (exams until September, you basically have to study during "holidays"), I had a lot of stuff to do and I felt so busy. Hope that someone's still reading this ^^'', all I can say is that there'll be huge revelations in next chapter, so stay tuned!
> 
> Tumblr: Knight41stories


	16. His Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank you to overflow for beta reading this chapter and being so supportive over this work. Check her fanfics if you still haven't (I'm totally in love with them). It's been difficult for me writing this chapter (as usual), I'm getting out of a depressed and hard period of my life and I recognize that writing this is not the most recommendable thing to do in my case, but I couldn't abandon this story.  
> Please, if you like this or have some feedback about it (English is not my first language and I consider myself a terrible writer), leave a kudos and/or a comment, they make my day :)

\- Do you…  can you speak now?_

\- Yes._ I reply. - I can._

My father nods. His swollen eyes are distant, his voice husky.

\- You and mom had a fight?_

He flinches, lowering his gaze and taking a deep breath. - Yes._ he admits, passing a hand through his hair, looking somewhere through the window.

\- We… we have to figure out a lot of things, it’s normal that we disagree at times, you don’t have to worry about anything._

\- I won’t._ I try to smile. I try not to think about his rimmed, red eyes, forced to smile back at me but not being able to, not totally. After so long of not being able to feel anything at all, it’s somehow weird trying not to worry.

 

\- Mafalda wanted to cook for you. She told me to ask you what you’d like once… Once you were finally able to do that._  he says. - You can easily guess it was no use explaining to her that they wouldn’t allow you to eat something here._

\- She can be stubborn._ I defuse.

He looks up at me. - Everyone is. Especially when you’re involved._

I look over the window, right where his look already got lost. It finally stopped snowing, it’s a beautiful day outside.

 

\- Do you remember when I used to bring you and Matteo to the playground?_ my father asks, after a while.

I nod. My cousin and I used to play together when I was a boy, just after the end of school.

\- Matteo was one of those kids who always wanted to win, even if you did better, he used to invent rules over rules to prevail you. And you…you were so patient, you let him win without saying a word, amused by his behavior rather than annoyed. I remember that time when you were both playing that arcade right next the front door… what was its name?_

\- Pong._

\- Yes, that one. He couldn’t cheat that time, so he pushed you in order to win. Your uncle scolded him all day long, but you… you didn’t care at all. You even cheered your cousin up. You were such a good boy… and you grew to be an even better young man, and… Elio,_ he says, looking at me in the eyes - I just want you to know that I’m so, so proud of you. What you had and have to go through… you’re far stronger than anyone here._ 

We both know it’s a lie, only a white lie to cheer me up. - Thanks._ I just say while he gives a gentle stroke to my hair.

\- I mean it Elio._ He sadly smiles. He raises his hand but stops mid-air, lowering it on my arm. I follow his movement, and I… I don’t-

\- How… how I got this?_ I ask, raising my bandaged wrist.

He raises his head, his look darkening, - As I said,  you shouldn’t worry about anything. The doctor says you’re getting better day by day. It will heal up s-_

\- I don’t remember it._ I interrupt him. - I didn’t have it, I’m sure that-_

\- It’s not something you should be concerned about, Elio._ he insists. - Everyone here is positive it won’t happen again._

\- Happen what?_ I raise my voice, I know I shouldn’t, but I have enough of this. Enough of me laying here so helpless, while other people make decisions on my behalf.

\- Your mother made me promise I wouldn’t start any of this before the three of us can talk together. Just the three of us._

\- Why… why Oliver…_

\- He’s not part of the family. That’s why._ my father cuts short. - Listen, I know that he has feelings for you, but I can’t… I won’t permit something bad to happen to you and our family. Not again. Letting him sleep that night with you… I knew that was a huge mistake, but I let your mother convince me. I won’t repeat the same mistake, I promise you._

 And suddenly I remember. I remember Oliver crying, after fighting with my father. Everything is mixed up, but I remember the nurse telling me something, I remember being left alone. I remember that…

\- It was me._ I say, looking at my wounded hand.

My father lowers his gaze.

 

 

\- It was a panic attack, that’s what they told us. You scratched your wrist until it started bleeding._ My father states, he can’t even look me in the eyes. - Oliver tried to calm you, but... You were bleeding too much, the risk of infe- … They had to sedate you._

 _It’s my fault. It’s all my fault._ They blamed it on Oliver, and not on me. He was forced to leave because I had to act like a child. A fucking child that proved to be a self-harming mental. I had to spoil everything, _everything_ , just because I wasn’t able to stand up for myself. Just because… God, _how could a person like Oliver… how could Oliver love me?_

\- Elio._ my father says, holding my hand, he has watery eyes, too. - You’ll always be my son and your mother and I will be there for you. We love you more than anything in this world, and _this_ ,_ he says, - I know this is difficult, but you’ll heal up, and we’ll go home and everything will be put to rights, I promise you._

\- I just want to go home…_ I whisper, before starting to cry. I hate this hospital, I hate everything in it. I just want to go home, sleep on my bed, return to my normal life again, even if it’s just a lie I tell myself, even if it won’t ever be the same, feel the same. I turn my head and Oliver is here, with me, sitting down on his chair and already adjusting his hand under mine, already weeping my tears away with his thumb, trying to cheer me up with his soft voice, telling me, aided by my parents, that everything will be alright, everything _is_ alright and that I just need to have more patience. Will it be the same, between you and me, Oliver? Will you always try to smile like this, in my presence, just with your mouth and not with your eyes? Will you kiss me again, touch me again, without both of us fearing it?

 

\- Oliver, we have to talk with Elio before the policeman arrives._


End file.
